The Devil's Chocolate
by Moldemort
Summary: He wasn't insane. The things he saw were REAL, and that was it. But nobody else saw them, so did that mean he was imagining it all...? He was imagining you? No. You may be dead, but you were real. Dead!Reader kind of OC xBritain


Arthur Kirkland assessed the house with every bit of British skepticism he was blessed with. It was rather lovely, but it was indeed rundown. Why his brother bought it was a mystery.

"It looks great, doesn't it?" Alfred asked, closing the car door and approaching from behind.

One of Arthur's eyebrows arched. "I suppose it's livable."

Alfred laughed, his feet crunching on the gravel as he turned to get his belongings from the trunk. "It just needs some tender love and care."

"I'm sure," Arthur replied, his natural sarcasm dripping from his words. He too turned to receive his own belongings. "I'll be choosing a room."

"Yeah, have fun. I gotta call the mover dweebs."

Rolling his large, emerald eyes, Arthur approached the large steps leading to the doorway. The house looked as if it hadn't been lived in for years, which was most likely true. Vines crisscrossed the railing and cracks riddled the steps. The bushes were so far out of shape that the best thing to do for them would be to rip them out.

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, pulling it out to open the ridiculously large front door. It creaked, letting the whole home know it had been infiltrated. Inside, the condition was even worse than the outside had been. Leaves, animal droppings, dust and filth coated the floor with a sickening smell, and little things could be heard scuttling about on the second floor. This was going to take a lot of work...

The front entryway opened up to a large, spiraling staircase that was also covered in debris. Arthur delicately stepped around the worst of it, and came upon the second landing. This floor wasn't near as bad, but it was still filthy.

Why the bloody hell would Alfred buy this place..? The question echoed around his head many times, and it was certainly the only thing he could think of while he scoured the rooms for one that was decent. He peered into a doorway, and was greeted by an owl roosting in the broken windowsill. Nope, not this room. He continued on, each room was as filthy as the last.

How many rooms does this bloody place have?

Finally, after what seemed like ages of searching, he came onto a surprisingly clean room. There was only a slight amount of leaves, and no animal seemed to have made it's home there. Satisfied with the choice, Arthur waltzed fully through the doorway and past the small amount of wall obscuring his view.

What the hell? There was a bed...perhaps the original owners forgot to take it. It didn't appear to be in bad shape at all, in fact it looked rather nice. It was made out of mahogany wood, the deep color offsetting the purple comforter. The amazing part was the fact it was spotless...not a blemish to be seen.

Shrugging his shoulders, Arthur tossed his backpack onto the mattress and sat down, grateful for the fact he didn't have to blow up the air mattress he had brought. Still. He hoped his residency at his brothers house didn't last long, only God knew how much of Alfred's quirky behavior Arthur could stand. Not only that, but it felt as if Arthur had to rely on the younger, when that was completely untrue. He could handle himself, despite whatever the hospital said. He wasn't crazy, or mad. Nothing was wrong with him, and he couldn't see why they had to insist there was. Yes, he saw things nobody else did. Doesn't mean they're not really there.

A soft intake of breath stirred Arthur from his thoughts, and he looked over to the closet. He...he had heard something...he was sure of it.

"Hello?" He called out, not wanting to scare it away. He was good with things like this, but every magical creature he had encountered reacted differently. "Come on out," he suggested. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Something rustled around behind the closet door, and he was half-tempted to go and open it. But, if the being didn't ask for it, he wasn't going to do anything. Best to save himself from angering a deity.

"Arthur! Where are you, brah?" Alfred's annoyingly intrusive voice echoed down the hall.

"Obviously staying away from you," Arthur replied. A giggle emitted from the same closet, and he stared. That was almost too...human.

"Nawh, don't be like that Iggy!" Alfred appeared in the doorway, and gestured to the piece of furniture. "Nice bed. Anyways, the mover guys said they'd be here in the morning. Just thought I'd let you know," he turned away, only to turn back again. "Oh, and this house came with a lot of property. Like, a /lot/. Feel free to explore or whatever."

Arthur nodded, waving his hand to get his obnoxious brother to leave. When he did, Arthur let out a whoosh of air, "Life was so much easier when /I/ was taking care of /you/..."

~*~*~*~

You stared out the window somewhat excitedly, for you had barely seen a living person in over eighty years. They were two men, and the way they acted made it seem as if they were to live here. Finally! Some company! Still...you weren't going to be able to speak to them...

No matter! It's the thought that counts, right? You watched with curious eyes as one man walked into the house, and a creak signified he was in. Barely containing a giggle, you walk out of the room you were in to watch him come up the stairs.

Well...he was handsome. The boy had classically handsome looks, cornblonde hair, and emerald eyes topped with large eyebrows. He was wearing a disdained expression, as if he was completely unhappy about being there, and his step suggested he had gone through a lot of hardships up until now.

Why doesn't he want do be here? You hadn't exactly cleaned the place...but it still had a lot of beauty to it!

Little did you know, that your house was no longer decorated in the lavish furniture that existed in your memories, and the ornate rugs that used to cover the floors were now coats of the filth Arthur was so desperately trying to step around. To you, your house was exactly the way it was eighty years ago.

Just like you.

He began looking into doorways, as if trying to choose a room. He looked through about five, before heading in your direction. With a small 'eep', you ran into your room and jumped into the closet, ignoring the history it held. Through the crack in the closet door, you could see him walk in.

His face suddenly seemed interested, and he plopped his bag on the bed. As he sat down, you unknowingly let out a gasp, and slap your hands over your mouth.

He looked at the closet and said something, but you didn't hear.

OH MY GOD! He chose YOUR room, YOUR ROOM! That had so many levels of indecency to it, mother would not approve...

Then again, mother was dead.

You shifted, and the certain object behind you rustled. The man looked curious, but didn't come to inspect it. The sound of large shoes stomping down the hall caught both yours and his attention, and an obnoxious voice called, "Arthur! Where are you, brah?"

The man you presumed was Arthur rolled his eyes, and called back, "Obviously staying away from you," in a heavy English accent somewhat like your own. It was so rude you couldn't repress your bubble of laughter, and it bled through the door. Again, he looked at the closet you were in, a new expression lit upon his face.

"Awh, don't be like that Iggy!" Another man, similar in appearance other than variations in hair and eye color, walked through the door. He waved a hand at your bed. "Nice bed. Anyways, the mover guys said they'd be here in the morning. Just thought I'd let you know," he turned away, only to turn back again. "Oh, and this house came with a lot of property. Like, a /lot/. Feel free to explore or whatever."

Arthur nodded, waving his hand to get the other man to leave. When he did, you heard the emerald-eyed man sigh, "Life was so much easier when /I/ was taking care of /you/..."

Feeling as if you had intruded on something, you backed up slowly, and disappeared into the nothingness that Spirits were allowed to visit.


End file.
